The Adoring Fan Chronicles
by Misty Haven
Summary: Come follow the adventures and blunders of the Adoring Fan as he travels across Cyrodiil and beyond!
1. The Adoring Fan Goes to Jail

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elder Scrolls: Oblivion. Bethesda Studios does.

The Adoring Fan Chronicles Episode 1: The Adoring Fan Goes to Jail

"Now stand here," the Breton said, unfastening his weapon holster. "And take this."

He placed an intricate Daedric staff into the Adoring Fan's hands. The awestruck wood elf ran his stumpy fingers across the artifact's glimmering finish. "Golly, Dragonheart, this is such a great present! Where on earth did you get this? Did you fight legions of monsters to claim a gift just for _me?_"

"Um…yes, of course. This is—er—one of my most prized possessions, so please treat it well."

The Adoring Fan fell to his knees and kissed Dragonheart's boots. "I'll never let go of it ever. I'll even sleep with it!"

Raising an eyebrow, the hero shook his fan away. "_Alright_ then. Uh, could you wait here for a little while? I have a few errands to run. I shall be back soon."

"You've got it, sir! I'll be right here waiting for you."

"Right here?"

"Yes."

Dragonheart turned and hurried out the city's front gates. The Adoring Fan watched his idol leave. In a swell of excitement, the fan ran to a bench nearby to further examine his present. A strange shimmer near the top of the staff grabbed his attention. He leaned in to see it more closely. _It's an inscription._ He thought. _Wouldn't Dragonheart be proud of me if I cast an amazing spell with this staff? Oh, how delighted he will be when he returns. By golly, I could become the next Arch-Mage with my ingenious incantations!_

The Adoring Fan read the tongue-twisting Daedric chant with much difficulty, but he finally managed to pronounce it. The staff shook and hummed the moment he finished speaking, and three scamps materialized before him.

"Aiiieeeee!" Clutching his new gift, the wood elf jumped to his feet. The hissing scamps crept closer to him. "Get back! Get back, I say!" The Fan shouted as he beat them with the staff. Each tiny monster disappeared the moment it died. The Adoring Fan sighed in relief. _What a story I can tell Dragonheart. I just saved the whole town of Anvil from a menacing Daedra siege! My valor will be known throughout Cyrodiil._ Before he could celebrate any longer, he looked down to find three pairs of beady eyes watching him. "_More_ scamps? Where on earth did they come from?" A metal hand wrenched him around to meet the face of an Anvil guard.

"Stop right there, conjurer scum! You've violated the law. Pay the court a fine or serve your sentence. All your stolen goods are now forfeit."

"But—But I have no money. Wh—What did I do that was illegal, exactly?"

"You were planning to attack Anvil with the legions of Daedra you've summoned! I won't let _my _city become another Kvatch," The overzealous guard snarled. "Come with me, sir. You're under arrest."

The scamps followed the Adoring Fan as the guard pulled him to Castle Anvil. _Dragonheart won't be happy about this…_

***

The hollow clang of the cell door stung the Adoring Fan's ears. He grasped the bars and poked his nose out of the cell. "How long will I be in here, mister guard?"

"Now sir, the fine for assault on the city is ten thousand gold, which equals three years in prison."

"Th—Three _years_? I didn't know I was conjuring Daedra, sir. I didn't know that staff was evil. I got it as a present."

The guard slapped the cell bars and left. The nearby prisoners snickered. The Adoring Fan rattled the door and screamed, "But I'm telling the truth! Let me go, please. Dragonheart will be gone long before three years are up. I need to talk to him."

The jail door crashed closed. He sank to the floor and wept.

"Hey, look. A Bosmer."

Sniffing and wiping his eyes, the Adoring Fan looked up. A Nord stood in the back corner of the cell.

"I don't see much of your kind around here. It's usually just us drunken Nords and some smelly seamen that get locked up. And forget about that Dragonheart you keep yammerin' on about. He won't come for ya."

"Yes he will. He's my hero! And he gave me that great staff—"

"That got you thrown in here? Boy, do you have bad taste in friends," The Nord chuckled. The Adoring Fan frowned. "You know what? You're a real meanie. How about we start things off on a _good_ foot, Mister—?"

"Long-Lance. Holdis Long-Lance."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Long-Lance. My name's—"

"Hey, you've got some meat on ya, right?"

"Yes, of course. I think I have some jerky in my back pocket, if you want some."

Holdis took a few steps toward the Adoring Fan. "Well, I've been pretty lonely down here in the dungeons. Do you mind if I mince your meat? I think you'd like it, as would I." The oblivious wood elf took the food from his back pocket and handed it to his cellmate.

"Golly, you're the best!"

Holdis bashed him over the head.

***

The Adoring Fan awakened to a cool breeze on his cheeks. He rested on his stomach, his face freezing on the stone floor. Blinking, the Adoring Fan rolled onto his back. He grabbed the waist of his pants, pulled them back up, and asked, "What happened? Have you minced my meat, yet?"

"Yes, I did. It was quite good, really."

The Adoring Fan crossed his arms. "And you didn't share some with me? It was _my_ meat, you know."

"Oh, you got some, trust me."

"You're surely one dumb Nord, Mister Long-Lance. You don't have a clue what's going on at all. You keep talking about us having a meal that I never took part in!"

Holdis chuckled.

The wood elf stood up. "I won't be here long, Mister Long-Lance, so you won't be stealing any more food from me. I'm gonna escape, by golly. You'll see!"

"Huh. Good luck with that."

And the Adoring Fan started digging the hole in his dungeon's floor. At first, he used his hands to claw the floor away, but once he got too many "boo-boos" on his fingers, he decided to start using his teeth instead. After realizing it was much harder to eat the stale jail rations without any front teeth, the Adoring Fan knew he needed some new ideas. He spent many long nights thinking of alternatives but could only daydream of his reunion with Dragonheart. Finally, he got fed up with brainstorming and asked his cellmate for advice.

"What new itemths thould I thrie? Mah fingerth an' teef aren't working tho well."

Holdis Long-Lance, sitting cross-legged in the corner, cleared his throat and spoke over his shoulder. "Have you ever tried your food bowl? That would make a good shovel."

"Thankth!"

And the dedicated fan continued digging. This time, his new tool proved to be very effective. In only six months of day-and-night work, the Adoring Fan, crouched in his tunnel under the cell, dug laterally to find a thick brick wall blocking his way. His dirt-caked face stretched into a grimy smile. "I just found the outer wall! I'll be free! I'll be free at last! I just need to chip this wall away…"

Snatching up a loose rock nearby, the Adoring Fan struck the wall, then again. And again. And again until a jet of warm, salty water shot him in the eye. His free hand covered the leak.

"Ouch! That wasn't nice, Mister Wall. Bad wall. _Bad_ wall," he said, hitting the stone angrily. "Shame on you for hurting a poor little prisoner like me." Cracks formed around the breach in the wall, and the mortar between the bricks groaned. A torrent of sea water burst through the stone and filled the tunnel in an instant.

The Adoring Fan yelled for help, but he soon realized that Bosmer could not breathe water, nor could sound travel through liquid well at all, so I am sad to say, my friends, that our beloved, daring, intelligent Adoring Fan met the Nine Divines that tragic day...and Holdis Long-Lance continued his mincing of newcomers' meat for the rest of his days.

THE END.

Next Time…

**The Adoring Fan Tries Skooma**


	2. The Adoring Fan Tries Skooma

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elder Scrolls: Oblivion and its characters. Bethesda Studios does.

**The Adoring Fan Tries Skooma**

Grand Champion Shadowstep had been acting a little _shady_ as of late, and his sidekick, the Adoring Fan, had grown more than worried for him. As they were passing through Bravil one evening, the Adoring Fan asked, "Sir, I've noticed lately that you've been acting a little strange. You run off in the middle of the night and then return, loopy as a drunken goblin, with guards crying your name. Do you have a bounty on your head, sir?"

Shadowstep, clad in his dark leather armor, stopped and turned to his fan. Bending over slightly, he began coughing and wheezing with possibly the worst acting skills ever. The Adoring Fan still fell for it.

"I—I am very, very sick, but I wish not to cause you worry. My priorities far outweigh my need of good health, but the guards—the guards care so much about me that they wish to find me and throw me to nearest healer."

The fan put his hands on his cheeks. "Oh my goodness! Is there anything I can do, oh gracious and godly Shadowstep?"

Standing upright, the Grand Champion smiled. "Ah, yes. You can get me some—er—medicine. Yes, medicine."

"Where do I get it?"

Shadowstep slid next to his fan and pointed to a beaten split-level house down the road. He whispered, "You see that house on the end? The bottom is Carandial's house, but the top is a _very _special apothecary, the only place that holds my cure. But be warned, though, there are many sick people inside drinking the medicine. I suggest taking some of it yourself to ensure you have not contracted my disease, also."

The Adoring Fan saluted him. "By Azura, I'll make you well again! My life would have no purpose if I had no feet to kiss, no famous backs to rub, no ground to worship."

"Uh, I appreciate your devotion to me," Shadowstep said, suddenly twitching. "But please, return quickly. My withdrawal—I mean, my _sickness_ is worsening."

"You got it!" The Adoring Fan ran off. Once the Bosmer made it to the "apothecary," a metal slat slid open in its front door.

"What're you here for?" A female Breton asked through the small hole.

"I'm here on behalf of the Grand Champion Shadowstep. He needs medicine for his sickness."

"Ah, his _sickness_, eh? Come, come right on in, dearie."

The door swung open to reveal a band of paupers chugging down bottle after bottle of their "medicine." The Breton woman smiled at the fan. "Hallo, I'm Roxanne Brigette. I help the boys. They get a little squirrelly sometimes, find it hard to cope. So I help out."

The Adoring Fan nodded politely. "Well, my name is—"

"We can worry about proper introductions later. Your friend needs a _cure_ first."

Roxanne led him to a large chest in the corner. "How much do you need?"

"Well, enough to cure my hero. I would like some, too."

"Oh, he wants a buddy, I see. Well, you should take some right now, just to make sure you don't have any adverse effects from the stuff." Roxanne opened the chest and handed him a shiny pink bottle.

"Golly, you're the best!" And he sipped the medicine.

* * *

The instant the potion touched his tongue, the room melted, and the lovely taste of sweet cake filled his mouth. After taking another swig, he stumbled forward. His eyes wandered the room in a daze. The smelly, ugly paupers' clothing morphed into extravagant gowns, and the creaky wooden room became a beautiful dining hall. The nobility-turned peasants stood around a floating dinner table that glimmered with encrusted diamonds. The Adoring Fan joined the party guests as brown bears in sack cloth pants served a meal of Rat Ragu and Powdered Deer Parts. [A/N: If you've played Oblivion, you know what "parts" I'm taking about.]

"Why, thank you, kind woodland being," The Adoring Fan said. The bears laughed, sprouted tentacles and wings, and left to start licking rainbows onto the walls. The Adoring Fan looked down to his delicious-smelling food. Licking his lips, he grabbed a fork and shoveled the Rat Ragu into his mouth. With each bite, the food grew colder and clammier until it looked just like uncooked meat—with the skin still on it! Eventually, he pushed the plate away and refused to eat any more. A glittering boar danced into the room twirling shimmering streamers. The hairy pig approached the Adoring Fan and snorted up his plate and food.

The fan patted the animal on the head. "Oh, good show! More! More!"

The dazzling creature hugged him and melted into rainbow-colored slime that tickled his tummy oh so gently. "Hee-hee!"

The party guests, their eyes now flashing with black-and-white swirls, watched him from across the table. The rainbow slime crawled up the Adoring Fan and made him sparkle more brilliantly than a self-centered vampire. The fan jumped to his feet and started dancing. Singing flowers and talking mushrooms grew from the floor as he leaped and pirouetted about the dining hall. The mushrooms followed him to the door leading to the balcony. The Adoring Fan threw the door open and continued his jig until he fell through the fine marble floor.

Warped faces and undulating colors enveloped him until he landed safely on his feet near a path paved with cows. More than curious of where the trail went, the Adoring Fan skipped along, the ground mooing at him with each step.

A beautiful, shapely woman, clad in delicate silver and yellow silk, floated into his view. Her image appeared as if it was imprinted on a thin mist. Squinting slightly, the Adoring Fan used his wits to reach out, grab her hand, and stroke it. He kissed it lightly. She giggled flirtatiously and began chasing him. He turned and ran, laughing with her as the cows groaned beneath them. Droves of women—all perfect copies of his pursuer—appeared from nowhere and joined in the hunt.

"Come back here!" They cried, reaching out for him. The Adoring Fan reveled in the fun until he came to an impenetrable grove of pink and blue trees. Since the last thing he wanted was to stop this pursuit, he jumped up into the twisting branches and clambered higher and higher.

One of the women below threw a fat slaughterfish at his back. The fish's sheer size knocked the Adoring fan from the tree, and he fell into the cheering women's arms.

"Meet the Nine Divines, scum!"

* * *

The instant the potion touched his tongue, the room started to melt, and the lovely taste of sweet cake filled his mouth. The Adoring Fan stumbled forward after taking another swig. His eyes wandered the room in a daze. A few of the Skooma addicts nearby gave him an odd look as he sat on the floor, gnawed on his foot, and spoke to invisible bears. Reistr the Rotted walked over to the fan and crouched down next to him. In his stupor, the Adoring Fan bashed him over the head with his bottle of Skooma, killing him. Blood rolled down Reistr's head, and the Adoring Fan dropped his drug, saying, "Oh, good show! More! More!" He hugged the man, and the sticky red liquid covered him. The Adoring jumped about as if someone was tickling him. "Hee-hee!"

Each Skooma addict stared at the Adoring fan in wide-eyed horror. The Bosmer watched them for a moment, then dropped the body and started dancing around the room, leaving bloody footprints in his wake. Much to the addicts' relief, the Adoring Fan pranced out the door and jumped right off the stairs. A city guard nearby watched the fan fall two stories, get right back up, and skip about the town. He decided to investigate. The guard, dressed in his silver and yellow uniform, stepped in front of the loopy elf. The Adoring Fan took the guard's hand, pulled off the gauntlet, and bit his finger off. The guard shouted in pain and called for help as he chased the fan through the shadow-filled streets of Bravil. More guards and joined him in the chase, and eventually, they backed the fan into the city wall.

"We've got him now," The wounded guard sneered. To his surprise, the laughing fan just turned and crawled up the wall. Another guard pulled out a bow and arrow and shot the Adoring Fan sqaure in the back. The Bosmer paused, flinching, and fell to the ground. The cheering Bravil guards approached the body.

"Meet the Nine Divines, scum!"

I am sad to say, my friends, that our devoted, hard-to-fool, peaceful Adoring Fan _did _meet the Nine Divines that night...and Shadowstep still got his "medicine," and he hoped that one day he would have as great of a high as his fan did.

THE END.

Next Time…

The Adoring Fan Makes Friends with Glarthir


	3. The Adoring Fan Meets Glarthir

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elder Scrolls: Oblivion and its characters. Bethesda Studios does.

A/N: I decided to try a new format for the stories. The big, chunky paragraphs seem to be a little hard on the eyes at times. Tell me what you think! :3

**The Adoring Fan Makes Friends with Glarthir**

As the Adoring Fan and the Arena Grand Champion, The Iron Maiden, passed through Skingrad one evening, they came across a bar that wafted the most enticing scent—the smell of freshly poured beer and well-aged wine.

The Iron Maiden also had an iron gut, since she could drink herself to the pub floor without vomiting once.

Although she loved her alcohol, she also loved her Adoring Fan.

She would pamper him like a pet to take along on trips such as this one.

The Adoring Fan didn't mind the attention, though, since he held love for her greater than that of a simple admirer: He was fascinated with her.

The Adoring Fan could not resist the Iron Maiden's strong, voluptuous Nordic figure, as well as her fair skin and unnaturally thick, black unibrow. Her soft lips hung crooked on her face, and her golden hair contained more volume and tangles than a bloated Harrada plant. Maybe the gold and fame made her attractive, or maybe the Fan's Beer Goggles granted her an artificial beauty.

Whether it was true love or not, the Adoring Fan was obsessed with this woman.

The Iron Maiden grabbed her Adoring Fan's hand and brought him inside the tavern. They attracted immediate attention once they were inside. A Nord prancing about with a two-heads-smaller Bosmer on her arm just commands odd looks from folks. The pair sat down at the bar together and ordered a Surilie Brothers to share.

The bartender slid them the bottle and said, "Welcome to the West Weald Inn. I'm Erina Jeranus, the proprietor."

"Pleased to meet you. I am The Iron Maiden—Arena Grand Champion."

The Adoring Fan puffed out his chest. "And my name is—"

"Wow! Arena Grand Champion! What brings you two to these parts? Not many famous folks come all the way out to Skingrad. They usually have our wine delivered to their mansions."

The Iron Maiden blushed. "We plan to visit the harbor in Anvil. It's a trip between—close friends."

"Ah, I see," Erina said, winking. "Enjoy your drinks, now."

The Iron Maiden and the Adoring Fan spent the next hour sipping wine and enjoying fun conversations with each other and the patrons around them.

Once the wine bottle was empty, the husky Nord ordered herself two beers. The Adoring Fan, already feeling a little tipsy, refused another beverage and bought himself a sweetcake to soak up the wine in his gut. By the time the chapel belltower struck ten, The Iron Maiden had consumed almost twelve beers and a tall tankard of mead. She spoke slowly with her Adoring Fan, and her bloodshot eyes rolled about in her head as she swayed on the barstool.

"Madam," the Adoring Fan said carefully. "Don't you think you're done drinking now? You've spent almost 150 gold in the past hour."

"_Dunworryhunnyy_…_Ihaveton—TONSof monnneeehh_. _I'mthe—the GraaandChampion!_ _Icandoanything…aaaanythingIIIIwaanntt…_"

And she slumped over onto the bar, her drink spilling into her lap. The Adoring Fan hated seeing his love this way. By now the whole tavern reeked of beer breath and sweat, and he needed some air. The Adoring Fan stood up and left The Iron Maiden drooling at the bar.

The humid summer night rang with chirping crickets and puking drunkards. The Adoring Fan slowly wandered the city, admiring its elegant stone buildings. As he passed the Great Chapel, an urgent voice said, "Pssst! Over here!" The confused Bosmer turned around, but nobody was there.

"Pssst! Over here!"

Again, the Adoring Fan could not find where the voice was coming from, and he began searching high and low—even in barrels and flowerbeds nearby—for it.

"Pssst! Over _here!_"

The Adoring Fan shrugged. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find you."

"Over _here_, dumbass!" A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him into the alley next to the Chapel.

When the hand released him, the Adoring Fan regained his balance and asked, "Who, me?"

"Yes, you! We need to talk."

"What do you need?"

"We can't talk here. Too public. Meet me behind the Great Chapel at midnight. Don't let anyone follow you. I'll make it worth your while."

"You're not, um, _propositioning_ me, are you?"

The voice, now determined as that of a male wood elf, paused for a moment. "Um, no. Not at all. Just follow me to the Great Chapel."

"But we're already there."

"Oh…so we are," the strange wood elf said. He cleared his throat and pulled a lit torch from out of nowhere.

The Adoring Fan had no clue how this elf could possibly conjure a torch without the "poof" or pizzazz of magic, let alone light it in the blink of an eye.

"Hello, I am Glarthir. And I have a problem."

"I don't know if I am the right person to talk to about your alcoholism, Mister Glarthir."

"No! That's not my problem."

"Is it *ahem* an _intimate_ problem, then? A Skooma issue?"

"No and no! Here's my problem. I'm being followed…"

As Glarthir ranted on, the Adoring Fan's Astonishing Desire to Have Daydreams brought him to the thought of how people come to be in the world.

There were no "children" there in Cyrodiil, nor in any other province, but he has read about them in books. Apparently, in what is called an "Alternate Di-Mention" by the high mages, "this" world was called Urth and was very abundant with children.

And many years ago there, a great fireball scorched the land and covered it in glow dust, and the event was dubbed The Great Fallout III. The sentient beings there, called Hue Men, had to fend for themselves in The Great Wasteland. The Adoring Fan wondered what the other "him" would look like and be called.

"The Annoying Man," he said with a smile. _It has such a good ring to it. And he would have a red-and-yellow wizard's hat with golden sparks coming out of the top! Oh, what a great other me that would be!_

"I need you to check out some people for me. The ones that are following me. Watch them, see where they go, who they report to. Will you help me?"

The Adoring Fan snapped back into reality. "Annoying Man… Oh! Uh, yes, I'll help you."

"Let's start with Bernadette Peneles. Be outside my house at 6 AM, you'll see her watching me. See where she goes and who she reports to. We'll meet here again tomorrow night. Oh, and NEVER contact me in public. They're watching. They can't know you're helping me."

The Adoring Fan left Glarthir awkwardly standing in the alley. "Bernadette Peneles. Six o'clock," he mumbled to himself.

He glanced at the clocktower. It was half past midnight. To pass the time until his task, he returned to the West Weald Inn, bought a room for himself and The Iron Maiden, and helped her into bed. Once he knew she was safe and away from the bar, he ventured to Bernadette Peneles's house and waited there.

He knew The Iron Maiden needed a good twelve hours to sleep off the alcohol, so he followed Bernadette all day with little distraction. He found nothing out of the ordinary about her, but when she approached him about why he was stalking her, he said, "Glarthir was wondering why you were following him."

"I didn't think I was so obvious, but I fancy Glarthir a little. He's kind of cute. Could you tell him I like him for me? You seem to be a good friend of his for helping him out."

"No problem, Miss Peneles. I'll tell him."

She kissed him on the cheek. 'Thank you."

And he left, blushing a little. He met Glarthir behind the Great Chapel that evening.

"So, you saw Bernadette Peneles, did you? She WAS watching and following me, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was following you."

"Just as I thought,_ just as I thought_. Excellent work. There will be a bonus in this for you, don't worry," Glarthir said. He handed the Adoring Fan a bag of 150 septims.

"But she was following you because she likes you."

"Bernadette likes me?" he asked with a hint of disgust. "Well, she isn't my type. _At all_. _You,_ on the other hand…"

"What else do you want me to do?"

"Toutius Sextius, do you know him?"

"Haha, _Sex-_tius."

"Oh, grow up. He's a quiet fellow, appears harmless enough, but I've identified him as one of my key suspects. He's a clever one. No doubt about it. Eyes in the back of his head, always seems to know when I'm watching. That's where you come in."

"I'll watch him for you. I'll meet you again tonight to tell you the news, Glarthir!"

The Adoring Fan hurried back to the inn to give his gold to The Iron Maiden.

Apparently, she had blown all her own money on drinks the previous night, so they needed funds to buy food and supplies for the final leg of their journey. She allowed the Adoring Fan to help Glarthir as long as he brought back lots of gold from each task.

The Adoring Fan followed Toutius Sextius and met the paranoid Bosmer again that night.

"Tell me what you know about Toutius Sextius."

"He's following you, too," The Fan lied. He knew that if he made Glarthir happy, he would get more moolah.

After handing the Adoring Fan 200 gold, Glarthir said with a smirk, "Just as I thought,_ just as I thought_. Excellent work. Just one more suspect left to convict. Do you know about Davide Surilie? Yes, of the famous Surilie Vineyards. Pillar of the community, et cetera. Who would ever suspect him? Perfect cover for the ringleader of the whole conspiracy! He watches my house constantly. You'll see."

"Alright, then…"

Again, he followed the suspect, and again, nothing out of the ordinary happened. He met Glarthir again at midnight.

"So, what did you discover about the upstanding Davide Surilie?"

The Adoring Fan lied again. "He's _Surilie_ watching you."

"Haha, good pun, my friend! Great pun. You know, I appreciate your help. I believe it must have been fate that brought the two of us together," he said, his eyes wide and starry.

"Er, I'm sorry, but I'm—taken, Glarthir."

"But I still need to give you your raise."

"Raise?"

"Yes. Raise your hands high above your head and close your eyes..."

A little wary, the Adoring Fan obeyed. He felt two hands moving up his shirt…

The violated Bosmer opened his eyes and shoved Glarthir away. "No! Leave me _alone!_"

"Then you must die."

"Whaaat? How am_ I_ the enemy?"

"I don't want a rejected lover following me, too."

"B—But I rejected _you!_"

"Yes, but Toutius and Davide rejected me, too, since deep in their hearts, they knew they weren't good enough for me. Now, I guess they want a piece of good old Glarthir again."

"But I lied about them following you. I—I thought you wouldn't mpay me if I told you the truth!"

Glarthir drew a mace and readied to fight. "This is the part where you fall down and BLEED TO DEATH!"

The Adoring Fan spun on his heels and screamed for the guards as he ran from Glarthir. He dashed around corners, jumped over walls, and eventually depleted his fatigue bar.

Slowing to a jog on the main road, the Fan listened for any signs of help. He knew Glarthir was not far behind him.

To his relief, two Skingrad guards approached with their swords held high. More than happy that his plight would soon end, he crossed his arms and grinned smugly at Glarthir, who was a little more than ten feet away.

He caught up to the Adoring Fan and the guards quickly.

The guard pirouetted while swinging his sword. "Hyaaah!"

"_Ooogh!"_

The Adoring Fan's body defied the laws of physics and flew upward onto the Rosethorn Hall balcony.

He was paralyzed and had only 2 health points left, and he prayed to the Nine that someone would help him soon.

Glarthir, seeing that the guards had mistaken the Adoring Fan for himself, laughed quietly and went on his merry way.

The Adoring Fan's fatigue regenerated once the paralysis wore off, so by sunrise he was able to lift an arm to knock on the balcony door.

A Nord named Eyja answered. The Adoring Fan did not notice that his body was all mangled and bruised. Numb with pain, he gave her a weak smile.

"EEEEK! Zombie!" And she commenced with stomping and jumping on him until he fell still.

So I am sad to say, my friends, that our brave, perceptive, ever-healthy Adoring Fan met the Nine Divines that day...and Glarthir continued being a creeper, luring unsuspecting male adventurers into his clutches each midnight.

The End.

Next Time…

**The Adoring Fan is on a Boat**


End file.
